


i hate to wake you up to say goodbye

by redpaint



Category: In the Heights - Miranda
Genre: College is a cockblock, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Nostalgia, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 12:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6610789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpaint/pseuds/redpaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Vanessa’s knee is a picture of Nina in a crib, asleep, dark curls already dusted over her scalp. Further up the bed there are school photos, fifth, sixth, seventh grades, her clothes and hair changing but her well-practiced smile staying the same. There are birthday parties and weddings and first days of school. And there’s Vanessa, who is in so many of them that a stranger might assume the two girls in all those photos are sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i hate to wake you up to say goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much to [peakgay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay) and [Kisatsel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel) for cheerleading and editing help!
> 
> title is from leaving on a jetplane bc I love being corny

Nina finds the box when she’s packing for college, squirreled away under her bed since middle school at least. It’s covered in dust and metallic stickers, the kind you get out of 25 cent vending machines. She clears a spot on her floor, which is covered in the neat piles of everything she owns, and sets it down, gets comfortable, braces herself for the inevitable embarrassment. The picture on top of the pile inside is almost enough to get her to close the box again and pretend like she never found it. She’s wearing three different neon colors, blue eyeshadow askew. Nina strains her memory; it was some kind of school dance, one with a disco theme. She picks up the photo, considers it for a second, and sets it on the floor, face-down.

The next one she remembers even less about. The timestamp puts her in fourth grade when it was taken. She’s bundled up in a massive winter coat, and her hair is poking out from between the high collar and the bottom edge of the hat sitting low on her head. She’s standing in front of one of those massive snowbanks created by the plows; it’s taller than she is by a good foot. She’s not alone either, another bundle of fleece and wool is posing next to her. It’s only by the bright pink Barbie gloves that Nina remembers that it’s Vanessa. The day, that particular storm, all of that is relegated to the fuzzier areas of her memories, but those gloves remain clear in her mind. Maybe it’s because Nina spent so much time envying them.

This one makes something grow in her chest, solid and warm. She digs out her phone from under a pile of socks and calls Vanessa. She’s in Nina’s room less than an hour later, dumping the pile of photos onto Nina’s bed and spreading them out over the blanket. It’s dizzying to see so much of her life laid out all in one place. By Vanessa’s knee is a picture of Nina in a crib, asleep, dark curls already dusted over her scalp. Further up the bed there are school photos, fifth, sixth, seventh grades, her clothes and hair changing but her well-practiced smile staying the same. There are birthday parties and weddings and first days of school. And there’s Vanessa, who is in so many of them that a stranger might assume the two girls in all those photos are sisters.

Vanessa picks up two of the photos that have stuck together and gently unsticks them with the edge of her nail. When they separate, her mouth twists into confusion, and then laughter. Vanessa’s laugh starts silently, but grows until it’s high and clear and she’s gasping for air in between giggles. The photos fall from her hands and land on top of a pile of books beside Nina’s bed that are waiting to be packed. Lord only knows what those photos could contain. Though the time the photos were taken varies, they all seem to have a certain embarrassment factor, and Nina is starting to believe that’s why she kicked them under the bed and forgot about them.

Nina isn’t entirely sure she wants to see what’s making Vanessa laugh so hard that he’s hiccuping, but the desire to know, even at the cost of her own dignity, is irresistible. She snatches the sheets off of her beaten-up copy of _Robinson Crusoe_. There are discolored spots where the photos stuck, but the majority of the picture is clear. Nina can’t be older than seven. She’s standing by the front door of the apartment, in the entryway that looks exactly the same now as it did when the picture was taken. The Nina in the photo is drowning in a wildly oversized suit jacket and tie, which she’s wearing over a blue tank top and denim skort. The bottom of the jacket nearly brushes the tops of her light-up Sketchers. The tie has been tucked into her waistband to stop it from picking up dirt on the floor.

It would be bad enough if it stopped at that, but she also has a smear of bright coral lipstick on her mouth, rather outside the lines of where it should be, migrating a little onto her cheek on the left. She’s grasping a miniature pink plastic purse in her hand and smiling up at the camera, looking unashamed, even proud. Nina flips the photo over, hoping for some context that could explain the horrors on the opposing side. There, in her mom’s spiky all-caps handwriting, it says Career Day 1997. Her father’s tie. Her mother’s lipstick. Of course she looked proud.

Vanessa is still cackling, giving into the giggles and burying herself in the pillows. Nina wants to be indignant, wants to defend this elementary school version of herself and why she was so ready to leave the house looking like that (she was going to look like her parents, she was going to make them _proud_ ), but no words come. She’s instead distracted by the way the laughter shakes Vanessa’s body, the way the whole bed vibrates with the force of it. Nina can’t see her face, but she’s memorized the megawatt grin Vanessa is pressing into Nina’s pillow. Besides, she’s surrounded by that smile, it’s shining up at her from the photos scattered on the bedspread, a constant by her side as they both grew up.

It’s early August, and it’s hot enough outside that Vanessa is wearing cutoff shorts and a tank top that’s riding up her hip as she quakes against the bed to reveal a bit of the golden-brown skin underneath. Nina is caught off guard by how badly she wants to touch. She’s reaching out before she can stop herself, but she turns the touch into a playful shove at the last second, avoids letting her fingers linger too long.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You were just so cute, and small, and your _lipstick_ , oh my god—” Vanessa says, between hitches in her breath. She extricates herself from the pillows to sit up and wipe at her eyes. “And look at you now. All grown up and ready to go to California and abandon me here all alone.”

Nina knows that Vanessa is joking, she’s been nothing but proud since the acceptance letter came in the mail months ago, but there’s still a sick tug in her stomach when Vanessa says it. Nina has spent more than one sleepless night staring at the ceiling and wondering what it will be like, for the first time in her life, not to have Vanessa there beside her. Nina’s quiet a little longer than she should be. She should be ready with an easy laugh, an assurance that she’ll be back for winter break, and anyways she’ll only be a phone call away. However, the closer her flight to San Francisco comes, the less she believes it. She knows it will be different. The silence must strike Vanessa as strange, because she’s leaning over the mess of photos to wind an arm around Nina’s shoulders.

“You’re gonna do great. You always have, even since we were little. Look,” Vanessa scooped up one of the pictures from the far end of the mattress, “there you are, fourth grade spelling bee champ. How could anyone at Stanford compete?” Her voice is quiet, but she’s close enough that it doesn’t matter.

Nina tries to focus on her smiling, triumphant smile and the big yellow ribbon that was pinned to her oversize sweater, but all she can think about is Vanessa’s breath on her face as she talks. Their cheeks are nearly touching, Vanessa’s chin resting on Nina’s shoulder, sharp and almost painful, but completely worth it.

“I’ll make sure they know,” Nina says, because it’s so easy to indulge Vanessa like this. She doesn’t need to worry about failing to measure up so far from home. To Vanessa, Nina will always be the fourth grade spelling bee champion, class valedictorian, fearless. She can be fearless for Vanessa. She lets them gaze at the photo for a minute, still and quiet but for the sound and rhythm of their breathing, which Nina notices becomes more and more in sync as they sit. The thought of it threatens to stop up Nina’s throat. She coughs and reaches out to take the photo, but Vanessa catches her hand before she can. The photo bends between their fingers as Vanessa holds tight.

“Vanessa?” Nina says, and glances over. Vanessa’s oval filed nails are digging into the skin of Nina’s palm, and she’s staring at their tangled fingers, her eyelashes laying long, delicate shadows on her cheeks. “Are you alright?” When Vanessa looks up at her, her eyes are sharp, looking at her with such an honest intensity that Nina almost wants to pull away. But Vanessa smiles, small and tentative. Nina can’t stop thinking for a moment how close they are. she might come away with feathered stains from Vanessa’s mascara on her cheeks if Vanessa blinks too hard.

“I’m,” Vanessa starts, and glances back down at their hands, “I’m good. I just—”

Vanessa has gone so still against her back, her breathing staggered and shallow in Nina’s ear. Nina holds her breath.. Her eyes trace the path from their tangled fingers to Vanessa’s lower lip, which is shining from how she keeps sliding it through her teeth. Vanessa has never been the nervous type. Nina is ready to take pity on her burning lungs and break the moment with a gasp, when Vanessa quickly throws her hair over her shoulder and leans in to press her lips, soft and warm, to Nina’s.

Nina forgets all about breathing for a second; she can’t find space in her head for anything besides the sweet chapstick taste of Vanessa, and how every inch of where their bodies meet is electric and hypersensitive. Nina reaches out blindly. She drops the bent photograph, turning to face Vanessa and hold her by the hips. The heat of Vanessa’s skin beneath her shirt is so real and immediate Nina thinks she may pass out. This is the same Vanessa she’s known all her life, only it’s a side she’s never seen before, never _felt_ before. It’s so much better than any of the shame-filled daydreams Nina had locked away in the back of her mind and resigned to never touch.

She lets Vanessa press her back into the pillows, breaking away to breathe while she does. It’s ragged, and her heart is beating out of her chest but she doesn’t want anything less than Vanessa’s body against hers again. When it comes, her typically-velvet soft skin gone sticky with the heat, catching on Nina’s, a streak of fear comes up alongside the exhilaration. She’s never been this close to anyone, has only ever kissed boys behind trees in the park, and that never progressed past a hand on her lower back. But this feels right, feels natural in a way rough hands and mouths never did. Nina doesn’t get the sense that Vanessa is trying to take anything, instead the melt of Vanessa’s belly and thighs against her own feels like receiving.

If only she could pack up a piece of what Vanessa is giving and take it to Palo Alto with her, alongside the books and socks. She tells Vanessa so, in between kisses. It earns her a soft bat on the arm, a roll of the eyes, and a _Shut up_ whispered with absolutely no heat behind it. 

The flight is only a week away, and if fortune was on her side in getting Vanessa in her bed, it’s screwed her on the timeline. Vanessa’s fingertips brush along Nina’s ribs under her shirt, and she gasps. The skin there is surprisingly sensitive, and she feels every graze as Vanessa winds closer to the band of her bra. It’s worn, flesh-toned thing; she hadn’t been expecting anything but a day of packing when she’d gotten dressed this morning. 

Vanessa’s palm comes to rest warm over Nina’s sternum, and she taps at the satin bow in the center with her pointer finger. She pulls away, fixing Nina with a heavy gaze. It’s an invitation for Nina to undo the clasp, but but one that lets the decision be Nina’s alone. Nina can make decisions, has been making choices so big they seem to consume her entire future in their enormity, and she makes this one without a second thought. Her fingers dig into Vanessa’s shoulders a little harder than expected when she pulls her back into a kiss and holds her there, running her tongue along Vanessa’s bottom lip. Vanessa exhales hard through her nose, and her hand under Nina’s shirt comes out to brace herself against the pillows cocooning Nina’s head.

They’ve waited so long, Nina is ready to make up years of lost kisses in one afternoon, and she refuses to rush. Vanessa smiles against her mouth, and she pushes up into it, tries to transfer as much of the joy suffusing her body through the kiss as she can. A strand of Vanessa’s hair tickles Nina’s face, a sharp contrast to the solid weight of Vanessa’s hips on her own. Vanessa has a million complexities Nina wants to explore in microscopic detail, and only seven days to do it. No, it’s not enough time, even if Nina starts now and continues through every school break until she graduates, but she’s willing to try.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr at [laaurens](http://laaurens.tumblr.com) if you want to join me in yelling about in the heights 24/7. comments get lovingly framed on my wall.


End file.
